At War With Myself
by Munchieees
Summary: Owen's POV from episode 'Elevator Love Letter' as he unconsciously strangles Cristina as he sleeps. Please review!


The cheese sandwich was mediocre; that's all I remember. A midnight snack composed from odds and ends from Cristina's apartment. Strange how I remember the sandwich now...after all that happened that night. I _do_ remember being amused at Cristina's choice of chill-out TV: a graphic documentary on the Discovery Channel, showing cardiothoracic surgery. Popping the last bite of crappy sandwich into my mouth, I questioned her, my voice slightly impaired by mirth mingled with scraps of cheese. But now I can't even remember what I said; only noticing her lack of response.

A snore answered my question; she had _actually _fallen asleep watching the chest cavity, now haemorrhaging blood right in front of my face. I smiled, wondering about her response if she was to see me watching her sleep. Pulling the blanket over her, I resisted the urge to kiss her neck as she slept; another regret. Perhaps if I had, I would have had better control over my senses later that night.

I switched off the TV and lay down next to her, hands behind my head. I breathed in her soft, flowery smell and felt at peace for the first time in months. For some reason, Beth's scent had never had such an effect on me...

Cristina's apartment had revolving ceiling fans. They made little or no noise, just propelling air into the small room. As I lay on her bed, I watched the fan as it moved around and around, allowing myself to be lulled into drowsiness by its revolving motion. There was something disturbing about the fan; something I could not quite recall. But somehow, its steady motion reminded me of the past, long forgotten. As I drifted off to sleep, it was as if the fan was making noise after all; a pounding, thrashing noise which rang and roared in my ears. I could almost feel my hair being whipped up, my clothes battered by the spinning rotors of the 'fan'.

Screams. The noise (and indeed the voice) sounded vaguely familiar. But then screams _were _familiar to me; limbs blown off, grievous cuts and injuries, lost family and friends. All by men, and all accompanied by blood and the cloud of death which overshadowed all else.

A woman. Those screams came from a woman close by to me. And this was new, it seemed wrong, somehow. I had never heard a woman scream before, let alone with such vehemence and desperation. In all of my 30 years, I had never heard such a terrible noise. I suddenly became aware that my eyes were unfocussed. Focussing them on the scene above, I expected to see the revolving ceiling fan. Instead, I saw Cristina.

Her eyes, blue as the ocean, held something I had never seen in them before. Yet it was something I knew all too well: fear. My hands. They were...wrapped around her throat! She was choking in front of my eyes and it seemed as though I could do nothing to stop it.

"Cristina! Owen! What's going on?" the screamer bawled again, and I noticed that the voice belonged to Callie Torres. The appearance of the Orthopaedic surgeon in Cristina's bedroom made the whole scene appear a lot less like a dream.

I guess this is when I finally became conscious. I heard Cristina's choking as she struggled to pull herself away from my grasp around her neck. At last, the realisation came crashing down upon my shoulders. Gasping in shock and terror, I released her, allowing myself to be pushed to the bed as she ran, retching and sobbing, to the bathroom. I looked down at my hands. To a casual observer, they were the same hands which I had learned to write with; the hands I had (at aged 5) controlled a bike with; the hands which had held and fired a gun in Iraq; the hands which had both taken lives and saved them. But to me, they were the hands of a monster.

Callie ran from the room, cursing in violent Spanish. I heard her pick up the phone and dial Meredith Grey. Her leave of presence in the room made me feel even more alone.

"Meredith, it's Callie. Owen strangled Cristina!" Callie's voice rang out from the front room. At her words, I sank down onto the floor, head pressed into the bed sheets. Clawing at my hair, my body was shaken my violent sobs. Across the room in the en-suite bathroom, the sobs of Cristina, _My _Cristina, added to the noise.

I would swear that the following 20 minutes were the hardest and most heart-breaking of my life. Cristina was scared out of her mind, and wouldn't come out of the bathroom. She refused even to be in the same room as me. I still couldn't comprehend the monstrosity of my actions. Although I had been unconscious, I was repulsed by the way I had treated Cristina. Somehow, I felt more of an atrocity now than I had ever done while in Iraq. I had done my duty as a soldier of the US army...but now, there was no jurisdiction, no duty to fulfil. I was faced with the crushing realization that I had very nearly killed the woman that I loved; and my head was swimming with images of what might have happened if I hadn't woken when I had.

I was still crouched on the floor, my knees tucked under my chin and tears streaming when Meredith arrived. Callie let her in, and without a word she strode through the bedroom and into the bathroom to find her friend. Derek Shepard's girlfriend couldn't even look at me.

Cristina had stopped crying. I could hear her and Meredith talking in the bathroom; Cristina insisting that she was fine, Meredith insisting she was not. The sound of her voice gave me the strength I needed. Wiping the tears away, I staggered up from my stupor on the floor, and knocked on the bathroom door. The door opened, and there she stood.

"Cristina, I am so, so sorry," I began, unable to stop the tears pouring again as I saw the purple bruises around her neck, and knew that my hands would fit inside the marks exactly if I was to test them. "I don't know what happened; I can't remember anything, I...I..." Greif overtook me once more and I was unable to continue.

"It's ok, I'm fine," her voice came from outside my line of vision. I stared at the floor, too ashamed to look her in the eye. "Look at me, Owen," she commanded. "Look. At. Me." Something in her voice told me to obey. I looked into her eyes, afraid I would see the fear and pain once again. But there was only a different kind of pain; mingled with sorrow and what looked like pity. All these emotions swam in the perfect blue eyes before me.

"I'm fine." She walked towards me, slowly and carefully placing her hands round my neck and pulling me close. All the emotional crap which had been building inside me came pouring out, and I quite literally sobbed myself silly, my head resting on her perfect shoulder, her perfect arms rubbing my back. I felt her breath on the back of my neck, and knew _she _was more than I deserved...


End file.
